


Winter Nights

by dramady



Category: Dark Harbor (1998)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-12
Updated: 2011-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How much is too much to lose? How alive is too alive? What is love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Behind Closed Doors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/210862) by [jeck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeck/pseuds/jeck). 



> These characters aren't mine; please don't sue.

David was a goddamned lawyer. He was smart, he was competent, he was capable. He was a good - no, make that great - cook and a decent athlete. He wasn't weak.

 _He_ made David weak. That goddamned smile and that voice and the rest of it. (Fuck, the things they did in bed. They made David hard just thinking about it. Made his gestures hard and nearly painful in his need to come.)

David did things he never thought he'd do. Horrible things. His wife was dead. Dead. _Dead_.

The nights were long and hard. David thought about killing himself, about finding and killing _him_ , about drowning in the lake, icy as it was, about eating one of those goddamned mushrooms. He would shout, break things, rail against the one person who wasn't there, who was supposed to be there.

David was a lot of things. One of those was a coward. He couldn't kill himself. What if, he'd think _he_ shows up right after? What if? What goddamned if?

When he finally heard those footsteps, he doubted his senses. He went outside, stood in the cold.

 _He_ was finally there. David confessed things, feeling weak. _Wanting_.

The bed, skin, taste, touch, senses now that could be trusted.

But David didn't trust _him_. He was a fool, but not that much of a fool.

"... write that down for me?," he'd said and David had.

"Read it," he'd been told and he had. He'd signed it, too, feeling fear like ice down his back. He didn't trust _him_.

But that smile … Those hands. That body.

David was helpless.

 _"To be able to look at your beloved in the eye and say we did that together as one. We chose each other above all others."_

They chose each other. David had everything to lose. What did _he_ have to lose? Nothing. It made David nervous.

"I love you," David whispered, voice low and tight.

And he got that smile. Nothing more, nothing less. Heat and ice mixed in his belly as David rolled over him again and lost himself in _his_ body.

That night, David didn't sleep. He watched _him_ sleep, hand on his chest again. _Stay, stay, stay, stay, stay...._

David Wineberg was a lawyer, a chef, a widower. He was a homosexual and he was a fool. But he couldn't stop himself and he didn't try. He was more alive than he'd ever been and more scared.

"Wake up" he whispered, combing the hair back from that unlined forehead. "Sing for me."

"What?"

David had managed to catch him off-guard; he smiled. "Sing for me."

"Now?"

If not now, when? Now. _Now_. While they were alive.

And in love.


End file.
